Fatal Crossover from Hell
by drakonlily
Summary: Take Reno care of Final Fantasy Seven, add Vicious care of Cowboy Beebop, mix in a hearty dose of Fatal Frame Two and you get this. Reno and Vicious don't find it funny, but I do. [In Progress]
1. Meet Reno

**Fatal Crossover From Hell**

_Chapter One: Meet Reno_

A/N: This is a parody. This is totally OOC of Vicious, OOC of Reno most likely. The soul purpose of this fiction is to amuse a reader. Nothing else. Dedicated to Summer, without whom the beating of Fatal Frame would not have been possible.

* * *

Reno hated backwoods places. He really hated them. People were always hard to deal with, had uppity moral values and far too much time on their hands. Time that they used, for no other means then snooping and gossiping about people brave enough to be "scandalous". Jealousy made far worse rumors then truth.

Yet, here he was, driving a ShinRa Tamen onto another dirt road, looking for some damn correspondence of Hojo's. He turned up the radio as the thunder broke, rain spilling into the cracked window and soaking his arm. Reno tossed out his half smoked cigarette with a curse, rolling the window up.

"'No regrets at all', my ass." Reno snorted in response to some lyrics. He certainly regretted punching that exec now that he was on this stupid mission in the middle of nowhere. All he wanted were the notes on some damned "Ritual Revivals" and a camera. Then he could get back to the city, where most people had all their teeth.

The rain was really coming down, Reno slowed to the speed limit, growing more aggravated. Hojo was creepy enough; he didn't want to meet someone that man actually considered his FRIEND. Reaching down to find his map, the red head took his eyes off the road.

When he looked up again, there was someone coming in contact with his hood. String-like hair glowed in the headlights and the rain; two flat palms struck the truck at the same time. His eyes met black ones for a split second before the person tumbled over the truck, rolling along the roof while he skidded sideways. There was no squealing of tires, the muck of the road ate the noise and made the whole scene seem surreal. When the SUV at last impacted with a tight grouping of trees it made enough sound to drown out the thunder. Both airbags deployed, taking the wind from Reno's lungs, but saving him- for the most part- from the glass that exploded into the cab.

Air burned the moment he breathed in again. Reaching around, Reno managed to remove a knife from his boot and stab the airbags. He fell forward, resting his head on the broken steering wheel. He could feel the burns from the airbags all over his chest and side. He would be stiff from this in the morning. The rain took less then a minute to totally soak him and then Reno remembered that he had hit someone. He sighed again, this mission was supposed to have minimal casualties, and here he had one before he even got to town. He crawled out through the broken windshield, knowing the doors were lost causes. Sitting on the hood, he looked around for the body. No one was there.

The rain continued, but it was the last thing on his mind. Killing someone wasn't exactly the most important thing either; it wouldn't be the first time. No, the first thing on his mind was how much the Tamen was going to cost to replace. The second, getting to the backwater town and getting OUT of said backwater town. He looked down at the hood of the car, blinking when he saw that the front had no real dent in it. In fact, the only damage to the vehicle at all was his impact with the local foliage.

"What. The. Fuck?" He slid to the ground on shaky legs, there was no blood, no handprints, no hair, nothing. Had he not been who he was, he could have chalked it up to an overactive imagination. However, Reno was a Turk; Turks did not imagine things like that. He bent over, running a finger along the wet grill, literally nothing. He looked up at the driver's seat, figuring whoever he hit was about his height. Meaning, that the truck would have stuck them in the chest and hips, meaning that there was no way in holy hell they would scamper away. He started walking back to the rear of the SUV when something grey moved quickly in his peripheral vision. The red head whirled, gun drawn to the figure.

Finally, he saw someone, a man, about Reno's slender build and height. He had long hair of some discernable color. At first glance, Reno couldn't tell if it was the person he hit or not. The young man looked over his shoulder; the details of his form were lost in the growing fog and rain. "Who are you?" Reno snapped, cocking back the chamber of his weapon. The man turned to walk away, Reno fired, and then...

...he was gone.

Limping at a half run Reno ran to stare down the hill. "No, just... fuck this." Reno pulled out his cell phone and frantically dialed. Putting the phone to his ear he was rewarded with a low static. Cursing yet again, Reno put the phone away and continued looking down the muddy road. Gleaming in a puddle was a stone; he picked it up, turning it over in his hand. There was a piece of paper attached to it. Pocketing the stone, Reno looked over a news article.

_Dr Carthwin Helms, Noted Psychoanalyst and Paranormal Pathologist, Missing._

__

_On October 14th, Dr Carthwin Helms disappeared in the middle of his research of haunted locations. He was on his way to Ville Villa, a small town deep in the Beubauxton woods. He checked into the Alburn Motel, but never checked out. Last reports said he was looking for the "Missing House"._

__

_Dr Helms was working on ways to contact the deceased via radios, stones, and typical cell radiations biased on "psychic" patients at a local hospital. It was Dr Helms' personal belief that mental illnesses could be cured with understanding of the spirits of the paranormal._

__

_Therapy for the Dead: How to help your loved ones is his most noted best seller._

"What the-" From the woods, a rustle caught his attention. Reno slid the article into his pants with the stone. There were too many questions right now; however, the moment he got to the damned motel, the Turk was cracking skulls.

* * *

Reno Squarenix; Vicious Cowboy Beebop; Fatal Frame Tecmo


	2. Meet Vicious

**Fatal Crossover From Hell**

_Chapter Two: Meet Vicious_

A tall, light haired man pulled his collar up closer to his neck, forcing the large, dark bird on his shoulder to adjust. It made a low warking sound that was ignored by its master. He couldn't believe this. He, Vicious himself, was running some accounts errand. For the past thirty minutes, the crime fellow had been trying to locate a gas station.

"Warrr." The bird hissed, stretching its wings to the rolling thunder.

"Shut up already, I will feed you when I find this Helms idiot and beat my check into his hide." He lifted a hand to scratch the bird's chest. Vicious was doing something he usually did not, a favor. It made him agitated. He was also in the middle of basically no where, out of gas about three miles ago, and still no where near humanity.

At this point he would have settled for a bicycle, just to stop walking. "Going to slaughter the first person I see... that will make me feel better."

The bird on his shoulder warbled its agreement.

At last, he could see a small town, melting out of the fog and into the swamp of the Beubauxton woods. Looking to his left, Vicious saw a sign post. On the ground next to it was a broken wood plank. Barely legible, in shoddy handwriting, were the words "Ville Villa". Rolling his eyes, Vicious started into the town.

* * *

Thunder broke, luckily enough for him, just when he walked into a questionable looking building that proclaimed itself a "Bar". The man behind the counter was shirtless, it wasn't a good thing. Two stained rags adorned either shoulder. The place stank of stale booze. 

"We don' allow an'mals in 'ere." The man hissed.

Vicious didn't say a word; he navigated around a pool of something and slid to sit at a barstool.

"Ya thick er somethin boy? I sai-"

Vicious' arm reached across the bar, pulling the man by the throat. "I am going to speak slowly, in short words, to assure that we will never have to speak again. The. Bird. Stays." He pushed back on the man, pulling a disgusted face before speaking again. "Where is Mission House?"

Wide eyed, the man backed up, rubbing his neck. "The wha?"

"You are making me angry." Vicious snarled.

"We dun got no mission house here." The bartender ground out, reaching under the table.

Before he reached up with the shot gun, the large bird alighted on his shoulder, burying its dangerous, curved claws into the joint and delivering enough force to pull the man to the floor. It returned to its owner in the next second.

"Where do visitors stay here?" Vicious asked as if his pet hadn't just mauled someone.

From the floor the man took a breath. "Alburn Motel, but no one's there."

The silver haired man left the bar without another word.

* * *

"What, exactly do you mean by 'There is no such person?'" Vicious snapped from the business end of the Alburn Motel's front desk. "I spoke to him-" leaning forward, he accentuated his tone to show he was NOT the usual person for such jobs-"PERSONALLY less then a month ago." 

Vicious was rewarded with a shrug from the badly dressed woman at the counter. "I dunna whatcha can do then. Get a room 'er getout. An take yer vulture wit ya."

Raking a hand though his hair, Vicious took a deep breath. "Where is Mission House then?"

The woman halted. "Son, if yer look'n fer Missing House, yer betta off goin back where ya came from."

Vicious blinked at her. "Miss-ING House?"

"Aye, It's only there one night outta a year, if ya get lost in it, you disappear with it. Best just get back where ya came from."

His eyes narrowed. "You think a haunted house is going to scare me? Do I look stupid woman? Do NOT try to play tourist games with me, understood? WHERE is it?"

"I dunno!" The woman was getting frightened of him, and frantically frightened people were worthless. "I swear I dunno, I'd tell ya just ta be ridda ya!" She snapped.

"Well you won't be rid of me." Vicious growled, throwing money on the table. "I need a room."


	3. Reno, Meet Vicious

**Fatal Crossover From Hell**

_Chapter Three: Reno, meet Vicious_

Vicious snatched his room key off of the counter, when the door to the motel flew open. His bird made another low sound, jumping slightly. In the doorway was a red headed man. Not expressly large, but he had quick eyes and two dark scars accenting them. He paid Vicious no heed, only stormed next to him. He was bleeding from many small cuts, and from the shins down, his blue suit was stained brown. It was apparent from his state that he had been walking in the rain for sometime, the bruise forming along his neck and cheek spoke of an accident that had recently happened. "Carthwin. Helms. NOW." His deep voice demanded.

They were looking for the same person it seemed. And they got the same response. "Never 'eard of 'em."

However, the red head had a response that Vicious didn't. Digging into his pocket, the man slammed a news article on the table. It was damp, but easily readable. "Then why the FUCK does it say he checked in here on the 14th?"

"He what?" Vicious growled, reading the article over before glaring at the woman behind the counter. He had wanted to throttle her before, now it was an effort to remain on his side of the counter.

"He ain't here." The woman growled. "I ain't seen 'em for three weeks, ya happy?"

"No, I-" he deliberately drawled out the next word- "ain't. You are going to let me up to get his things then."

"You an wha army Red?" The woman growled. "His stuff belongs to me, he didn pay me."

The red head made to draw his side arm, and Vicious' bird was in the air. For once, the animal missed it's target, the red head was quick enough to fall to the side, saving his arm. His jacket had already seen better days. Like lighting, the woman ducked into her office.

The red head regained his feet with the same impressive speed. "Call that damn thing off or I will shoot it." He snapped.

"Kill my bird and I will spit you on the railing." He retorted. "What do you want with Doctor Helms?"

"Who's asking?" The red head responded, drawing a second weapon.

Vicious knew enough to know when people were playing with guns and when they were serious. The red head looked half spooked, and most assuredly serious. He snapped his fingers and the bird alighted again. Petting the animal's chest, he watched the red head replace one of the guns. "Vicious."

"You or the bird?" The red head asked, smirking.

"Me, and you are?"

"Reno." Neither man offered a hand to the other. Reno sighed. "So you want to talk to this Doctor too?"

"That, is a business matter." Vicious crossed his arms over his chest. He let his eyes travel up the red head again. No one in this town would wear a suit and carry three side arms. "I am assuming it is the same with you? Too bad, he is coming with me."

Leaning on the counter, Reno reached about behind it before responding. "Actually, I just want notes and a camera; you can feed his ass to your parakeet for all I care."

"It isn't a parakeet." Vicious pinched the bridge of his nose. When he looked up the red head was at the stairs. "Where the hell are you going?"

"Room three-seventy."

Vicious raked his hand down his face. Why hadn't he thought of looking at the check in book? With nothing else to do, he followed up the red headed man, who, despite at least being articulate, wasn't helping his bad mood.


	4. Learning to Play Together

**Fatal Crossover From Hell  
**_Chapter Four: Learning to Play Together_

Reno didn't give the silver-haired man a second look as he began picking the lock to room three-seventy. The old motel door lock came undone without much fuss, Reno slid to the side before giving the door a push. He noted that Vicious was on the other side, hand on his katana.

The door creaked loudly as Reno pushed it inward. He motioned to Vicious that he was going in and moved quickly, kneeling in the doorway with his weapon drawn. A strong odor was the first thing that the two men noticed, followed quickly by the amount of clutter.

"Love of GOD what died in here?" Vicious growled, walking into the room after Reno stood.

The red head started searching around a messy desk, throwing open drawers and looking behind it. "It smells like photo developing chemicals. Gives off a rotten egg smell." He started dragging a fireproof case from behind the desk.

Vicious cocked an eyebrow at the other man. "How did you know that?"

Reno shrugged, another grin on his face. "Photography minor in college."

The bird must have felt Vicious' agitation, it hissed at Reno. "I mean, how to find that fire-case." He peered at the red head's lock pit kit from over the shorter man's shoulder. "ShinRa?"

"Told'em not to put the logo on the equipment…" Reno muttered, but didn't exactly answer Vicious. The case popped open and Reno began skimming files.

Totally disinterested in the files, Vicious started flitting though mail that had been slid under the door. "Turk?" He asked after a while.

"Yeah."

"How's that pay?" Another collection letter from Red Dragon hit the floor.

"Not bad, only really crappy thing is the constant moving around, there are jobs that mean I don't see home for weeks." Reno tossed a pamphlet over his shoulder onto the discarded mail pile. "Great benefits though, 401K, Vacation, the works."

"Union?"

"You know it." Reno lit a cigarette. "They'd be fucking us otherwise. The union dues are worth the full vision and dental."

Vicious stopped reading. "You get dental?"

Cocking his head, Reno also stopped reading. "You don't?"

That earned a snort. "Not union, cheap ass bastards."

"Red Dragon then?" Reno commented with a laugh. You all were in negotiations for months man, what's going on? Why not just strike? That's how we got our vacation upped."

Rolling his eyes Vicious snatched up the mail from the desk. "They offer a stock option that is out of this world. That and the membership cards with the company have a lot of discounts. Still, I would trade that for dental." He growled again, even more put out with the Turk then before.

As he fingered through more bills he came across a bunch of photographs. All the pictures showed blurred, half unintelligible, images. "Well someone else didn't minor in photography…"

Reno folded some paperwork, sliding it into his front jacket pocket before walking up to look at the pictures. The light haired man handed them over. "It could be the film… where'r the negatives?"

"Do I look like the doctor?" Vicious snapped. "How the hell would I know?"

"Snippy much?" The red head responded, dumping a file of brown strips to the desk over the photos. He picked them up, turning them over in the light. "Well that's-" he squinted, "this isn't…" He picked up a photograph. "It's the image, not the camera…."

Vicious grabbed another strip and held it up the same way Reno had done. He wasn't trained, but even he could tell that the image itself was wonky. "So he's a shitty shot?"

Reno pocketed some of the images and the negatives. "Then why is nothing but the figure blurred in all of these?"

"You're the one with the prissy major, you tell me."

Reno glared at the Red Dragon member. Vicious was predictably unfazed. "MINOR in photography."

The two looked around the room more, finding very little to go on. The only other thing of any value was a scribbled map, the letters "MH" were clearly written in red ink. Picking it up Vicious turned to leave. Stopping he looked over his shoulder. "You coming?"

"Only if I can skin that sonofabitch when I get the camera." Reno responded, following Vicious out.


	5. You Are Now Entering Hell

**Fatal Crossover from Hell  
**_Chapter Five: You Are Now Entering Hell_

The two left the motel with little fanfare. Both of them looked questioningly at the door where the manager had fled and then to each other. They had expected at least one cop, however, the road was basically empty, one old pickup truck was parked in front of the bar, but otherwise the rain made puddles were the only things on the road.

"So how do we know where that is exactly" Reno asked. "I didn't pass anything that resembled a house on my way here, did you"

Vicious shook his head. "But there is another road I passed, how many can this town have"

"True." Reno started across the street, reaching into what seemed like never ending pockets.

Vicious followed the red head, knowing full well he intended on stealing the pickup truck. He also knew that the barkeep wouldn't be in the best of moods. Reno only took a moment to jimmy the lock open, he slid into the seat stiffly.

Walking around to the other side, Vicious found the passenger door oddly unlocked. Of course, the duct tape as a handle could have been the reason for that. "You got into an accident" Vicious asked, wondering what he trusted less, Reno's driving or the truck.

Lighting yet another cigarette, the red head sighed. "Some slack-jawed-deliverance-wannabe jumped out in front of me." He leaned over to start the car when the back window exploded.

"GETOUTTAMYTRUCK" Barkeep bellowed as he awkwardly tried to get off another shot. Vicious' bird had all but ripped his arm from the socket; he worked slowly to try to fire off another shot.

"Driving now would be good." Vicious commented lightly.

Reno threw the truck into gear, flying down the road. "Better now"

Vicious said nothing as the red head made his way out of town. The rain refused to let up; both Vicious and his bird were as wet as Reno had been by the time they found the second road.

Leaning out, Reno noticed the sign. "Yeah, this whole fucking town can suck me. I have half a mind to go home."

Vicious snorted. "Scared"

His answer was the truck picking up speed, taking a turn literally sideways. "An' you can suck me too."

"You aren't my type sorry, Art Major."

An exasperated noise rumbled in Reno's throat. "I suppose you have a thing against college students? Yeah, I forgot, Red Dragon didn't have a placement evaluation." Reno took a moment to enjoy the look that comment earned. "Fer the record? Art wasn't my major. "

Offended, Vicious glared out the window. "I did go to college."

"Playing football-fat-boy don't count as college."

Vicious' eyes narrowed again at Reno. "I wasn't on the football team."

"Betcha were a frat boy." Came the counter remark.

He had been a Tri Chi-or "XXX"- Zeta Eta member in college, but Vicious wasn't about to give his unplanned companion the satisfaction. "Accounting major, Honors society. Happy"

Again the truck swerved, now it was due to Reno's laughing. "ACCOUNTING! And you said I had a prissy major! Oh lords"

The bird let out a yell, quieting Reno slightly. He continued to snicker.

"Oh, and you were what? A major in blowing shit up" Vicious growled. "Or did we do the community college"

"Junon Academy of Arts." The reply was startlingly affronted. "You know the one that has auditions? Community college my ass." He grumbled.

"Arts? You're a fine artist! Listen, Warhol, I'm straight."

"Theatre, you jackass."

Vicious started laughing this time. "And that makes you more straight how again"

"Cretan." Reno mumbled.

They fell silent again, aside from mumbled comments of "nerd""queer""jock-in-geeks-clothing", and "woman-in-man's-clothing". About twenty minutes down the road, Vicious suddenly got back into business mode. He motioned to a driveway, half hidden in the fog.

Reno pulled into the drive slowly, the two looking around. The building that loomed in front of them wasn't any house. It was more like a converted institution. The yard was overgrown, a fountain, broken and covered in more algae then cement, overflowed into the dead flower bed. At last the drive spilled out into a small parking lot, the faded sign proclaimed "Missing House Mental Institution."

Reno pulled in next to a car. The car was in far better condition then the truck they were in, and by the license plate they could tell it was from out of town. "Well, looks like we found him." Reno hopped from the truck. "And we have a better ride out of here."

The rain at last let up, fog rose in its stead as the two walked up to the unlocked car. Reno popped the trunk, walking around to find his camera and a nicely organized set of files. "Well hells yes." He slid the camera bag on and tossed the files into the bag. Examining the camera, he laughed. "This was easy, Camera Obscura, I have found you."

"Good for you, but I still have to find the doctor." Vicious growled from the backseat. He threw out a spent air freshener.

Reno sighed. "Ok, look, I'll even set the car up to be hot wired for you. How's that? But I am out of here. Exiting, stage left and all that jazz."

Reno got into the drivers seat and got his knife out, then stopped. "Shit, it's got a safety lock. You need the actual key to" The truck had begun to sputter, then with one last quiver, it died. Both he and Vicious snapped their heads over. Walking away from the truck was a man, tall, with stringy hair.

"Son of a bitch" Reno snapped, jumping from the car. Without a second thought, he and Vicious chased the man around the building. The man in front of them was unusually fast, he was gone before they rounded the corner. All that they saw was an open door. "I am going to kill him." Reno began checking his weapon.

"You know him?" Vicious asked, reaching in for his own gun.

"It's the guy I ran over."

Vicious stopped. "If you hit him, he certainly doesn't show it."

"That" the clip snapped into place in Reno's weapon"is why I am going to ask him a few questions. Neither of us are leaving now till we find your damn doctor anyway right"

"Right." Vicious sighed. "I hate old buildings. You can't trust them not to fall in on you."

Reno shrugged. "Eh, everything in there is dead, nothing ta be scared of."


End file.
